


Better Than Before

by Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Family, Gen, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will/pseuds/Sammys_Angel_Team_Free_Will
Summary: This is an AU. This is what might have happened if Mary had died in the fire and John still went after the YED, but ghosts and whatnot are not real. Sam and Dean escaped their disillusioned father, but are they really better off on their own? Can Castiel still help them?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything to do with it, just playing with the characters.
> 
> A/N: I wrote this story in one sitting, and its nearing 3am. It goes without being said that the story is not betaed. All mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy and please let me know your thoughts. All constructive criticism is welcome.

Better Than Before

‘Is this really any better than where we were before?’ It’s the question that’s popped up so very often in the last ten months. The bitter wind bit into his skin and sank deep to the bone. The thin frame, once upon time built and strong, wilted further into itself and the lithe form next to him. What little bit of heat shared between the two was growing weak against the persistent chills. With the winter storm fast approaching, they would have to find shelter soon, or risk certain death in the snow. Unfortunately, churches scarcely opened their doors on a weekday and none for an entire night; Shelters were first come first served and he always worried they would call the police, or worse social services on them.

Streetlights flickered at random, setting Dean on edge, any flickering light did. They reminded him of his father, and the craziness that engulfed the man after his wife’s death. “Keep in the salt circle, boys. Don’t move until I tell you to. Understand?” The man had become obsessed with the idea that a demon had set the house fire. “Dean, take your brother and run outside!” He’d been four years old and he can still remember the unbearable heat licking his skin as he raced to do as bid. 

His mother burned to death in the nursery. Dad had always said he had seen her trapped on the ceiling. In reality, the police report had said that his mom had set herself on fire and had been in the corner of the room. Dean figured the thought of postpartum depression making his wife commit suicide and attempted murder was too much for John to take, and therefore, the man created a convoluted story to make it slightly more bearable. Of course, at four years old, Dean had implicit trust in the man that had helped bring him into this world, he had no way of knowing better. So, he believed the made up tales, and fell into line, took care of his baby brother, and didn’t complain about the constant moving around for a wild goose chase. Eleven Years later and he's still taking care of his little brother and not complaining about moving around, but that's pretty much all that is still the same.

Hacking coughs had him shaking the cobweb of memories away. His loose hold tightened on his brother, trying to will the creeping sickness to bid farewell and find another host. Tears built up behind his closed lids, moistening his eyes but never traveling further. “There ya go, buddy, just get it all out,” he soothed, voice rough with pent up emotion. The expulsion of the mucus had him fighting his gag reflex. Dean’s hand rose to tussle dirty, brown locks, massaging his brothers scalp a fleeting instant before it dropped back down to the malnourished arm. “Feel better now?”

Answering with a slight tilt of the chin, Sam’s eyes slit open to peer up at the older boy. “I‘m okay, Dean.” It was meant to reassure, but the obviously tortured throat only worried Dean more. Sam hadn’t escaped that fire without ramifications. The fire had been in his room, the smoke inhalation had forever altered his life, damaging tiny lungs. “Are you okay? You look lost.” He wiggled out of his snuggled state and sat up straighter against the wall, still slotted tight against Dean.

Dean gazed over, a dozen or more excuses and lies ready to be spewed to awash the concern off Sam’s gaunt face. He reached over and wiped at a black smudge on Sam nose. “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. That cough is getting worse and it’s going to snow soon. We need to find someplace warm, or at least with four walls and a roof.”  
They fell into a fitful silence, content to watch the sun play peek-a-boo behind the city walls, while casting a shadowed mirror. Dean sighed in relief when the lampposts shut off, ever thankful for the incoming daylight. Morning brought life: buses carting fortunate kids to school, men and women racing down roads and sidewalks to get to work or to run errands before the kids got out of school. Sometimes it was hectic, busy, other times it was calm, languid. Either way, with people out, businesses were opening and churches have started giving out breakfast for the needy.

Dean pulled himself up and then Sam, dusting off loose dirt. Stomachs well used to being empty rarely protested anymore, but that didn’t mean the aroma of food didn’t stir excitement deep in their gullets. Fresh bread, sweet danishes, greasy bacon, the wind caught it all, drifting the scents their way, enticing them to come get their fill. As they passed a produce stand tangy oranges filled their nostrils too. Dean’s sticky fingers swept up a couple when no one was paying attention. He stashed the stolen goods in his backpack for later. Reaching out a hand, he glanced over Sam’s way and chortled at the Cheshire grin, snagging the boy’s stolen apples. “That’s my boy, Sammy,” he praised, smiling as Sam preened.

The line was long at Faith, Hope, and Love Baptist Church, but the members always had plenty to go around. In fact, this was the only church Dean and Sam knew of that gave not only a plate of food, but a bag of goodies to go, too. When they reached the food table, they each got a Styrofoam plate filled with eggs, grits, bacon, and toast, and a glass of orange juice to drink. A Blessing Bag was gifted to each of them and they quickly made their way to a plastic table to consume that morning’s meal. After their breakfast, Dean and Sam went to bathroom to take care of business and clean up.

Both boys were thrilled to see washcloths and new toothbrushes in their treat bags, as well as a comb, a travel size stick of deodorant, and some hard candy. Sam scrunched his nose up as he held up his deodorant for Dean to see. “It’s for girls, Dean,” he protested, indignant.

“It should suit you well then, Samantha,” he teased lathering his cloth with soap. Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother in reply, making Dean laugh. “Make sure you get behind your ears and under your nails, Sammy,” Dean reminded, cleaning the backs of his own ears.

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, put out. “I know, Dean.” He coughed intermittently, spitting out yellow and green build up. He stripped out of his dirty clothes and tossed them in a pile with Dean’s, by the door. Washing as thoroughly as he could with just a rag and sink he hurried to finish before someone else needed to use the restroom. Usually someone would have already come knocking. “My hair is gross, I wish we could shower.”

“Me too, kiddo, but we can’t, so don’t think about it.” Dean redressed in his clean set of clothes and pulled his threadbare jacket back on. “Come on, we need to start hunting a place to bunker down before the city is bombarded with snow and ice. We also need to see if we can snag some more food to keep packed in case we get stuck somewhere. I’m not entirely sure how bad the storm is going to be.”

“Can we afford a new blanket? Maybe if we get a can opener we can buy some cans of food. That should keep for however long we need ‘em,” Sam stated, pulling his hoodie over his head.

Dean frowned for a moment, proud that Sam had morals, but frustrated by them even still. “I don’t know if you noticed this or not, but we aren’t exactly financially stable, Sammy,” Dean huffed. “I can get us some of those things-“

The silence as they exited the restroom was unsettling and the stillness instantly brought fear to both boys. Emerald orbs fluttered around the room, taking in the cowering crowd of the homeless and needy, the few church members working the food tables had their hands up with faces full of panic. Sam gasped and dragged Dean down with him as he collapsed to the floor. The lone, masked man caught his eye right after the glinting metal of a gun. On the floor, Dean and Sam crawled closer to the other people, away from the open area by the bathroom. The older sibling curled atop and around the smaller body, trying to ignore the tremulous waves echoing against his torso.

Terror filled him, his heart thudding so hard he was sure the gunman could hear it. He hadn’t been near firearm since their dad had pulled one on them and threatened to shoot Sam if Dean didn’t learn the incantation to expunge demons from humans. That had been the last day they had even seen their dad, as Dean had carted Sam away as soon as the situation calmed. The punches and kicks hurt, and the salt digging into their knees for hours was torturous, but what kid didn’t get disciplined? Death threats, against Sammy no less, that had been the end of the line.

He needed to get them out of there, but how? It wasn’t like the guy didn’t know they were there. They had come out into a silent room talking; of course they had been noticed. So, how were they going to escape? Sweat began to accumulate on his brow, dripping onto the white tile of the floor. Sam’s hot, heavy breaths became rapid, wet, and raspy.  
“Sir, we don’t keep money here. We just cook and keep necessities for the Blessing Bags,” one of the ladies told him. Dean applauded the strength in her tone. “Please, there is no need for anyone to get hurt, just leave; we can’t give you what you’re after.”

Sam’s panic was his undoing and he began to wheeze and buck against his protector. The sudden noise must have startled the gunman, because he faltered and turned to see the source. In the moment of distraction, Dean caught a glimpse of a couple of men tackling the possible shooter, taking him down. He didn’t know if the threat had been eliminated or not, but the current problem needed his attention just as much. Gasping a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, Dean rolled off top of Sam and brought the boy flush against his chest. A sturdy hand rubbed against the heaving chest as he chanted a gentle mantra. “It’s ok, calm down. I’ve got you. Breathe with me, buddy. Deep in…slow out. There ya go, good job. Keep going.”

Apparently the man had been taken care of, because the hustle and bustle restarted. People rose from their hiding spots, chaotic and rushed, as if not sure if they were to continue on as they were or just move on. When blue lights flashed through the windows, Dean tugged at Sam, bring him to a half stand, supporting most of his meager weight. He reached down to snag their bags and started to manhandle Sam toward the exit. Before they could reach the door, a man in a gray suit appeared in front of them, a concerned smile fixed on his friendly face.

“Is there any way I can help you, boys?” He asked, taking in Sam’s sickly state. “Perhaps a quiet place to rest and catch your breath?”  
Dean glanced down and back to the figure. He recognized the man; he was here every time the church was open, welcoming people, speaking to as many as he could. The man had never tried to approach the two of them before, but he always seemed pleased, in a sad sort of way, when he saw them. Reluctant, Dean nodded, and allowed the friendly touch to guide them to another room off of the cafeteria like area.

“My name is Castiel Collins, I’m the Pastor of the church,” he told them, as he guided them into a Bible study classroom. “You’re free to rest here as long as you like. Is there anything I can get for you? A glass of water, perhaps? Are you boys hungry?”

Sam curled tighter toward Dean, head bent he regarded the man through his shaggy bangs. “Some water, please,” he rasped. His heart-rate was returning to normal and he could breathe better again. Relief washed through him so that he sagged against his brother.

“Of course, I’ll be right back.”

Once they were alone Dean hugged Sam then pushed him back to ensure that he was, in fact, okay. Seeing no new injuries, he allowed his own heart to settle down. He dragged a hand across his forehead and wiped off the sweat onto his jeans. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam answered looking Dean over. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” his gruff expression belied his words.

Pastor Collins returned with a cup of water and a chocolate bar for each. “Now then, here we are. Are you feeling better?” He sat in a chair in front of them, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together. At their nods, he continued, “I’m sorry for the scare today.”

“It’s okay, wasn’t your fault,” Dean murmured.

“No, but nonetheless, I’m sorry it happened. Go ahead and eat the candy, you both look like you could use a little sugar in your life.” He smiled at them again. “Do you boys live near here? Have family somewhere?”

Sam’s head shot up, eyes wide and he looked to Dean. With a false bravado he answered, “I don’t think that’s any of your business, sir.”

“Well, maybe, maybe not, but you see, the temperatures about reach freezing and I would like to make sure you boys are tucked somewhere safe and warm.” The smile never left his face, but his features remained sad, concerned.

“We don’t have a house right now and we aren’t going back to our dad. You don’t have to worry about us though, we’ll figure something out,” Dean gritted his teeth and stood up to escape. He didn’t like to be trapped with police close by.

Castiel stayed in his seat and lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. “How about a proposal then? You both come to my place, at least until the blizzard has cleared up. You can shower, have a bed to sleep in and the Misses will cook up a hot meal. You can leave if you feel it’s necessary and I won’t tell the police, unless I feel that you are in danger. Does that sound fair?”

Sam looked at the pastor with hopeful suspicion. Kindness rarely came free, but the man seemed genuine. He sipped at his water, trying to stave off another coughing fit, unsuccessfully. “What’s in it for you?”

“Knowing that two young ones are not freezing or starving to death,” he answered firm and serious.

“That’s it?! How do you expect us to pay you back then?” Dean snarled. He was worried about where and what they were going to do, especially with Sam sick, but if something sounded too good to be true, it usually was.

“That’s it, no strings attached. If you felt better for it, we could arrange a deal where you help out here, but that is not a requirement. The offer stands either way.” He smiled again, praying the Lord would give them courage to trust him, allow him to help the troubled souls.

Dean and Sam looked to one another, sharing a silent conversation. It would solve the issue and more, but it was huge risk placing that much trust in a stranger. Did they really have a choice? Sure, they could gamble finding their own way, chance staying at a shelter where the police and social services might be called, or take the generous offer provided to them and risk walking into the hands of a serial killer. No matter what option they chose, there was a hazard.

“I uh- we uh-I guess that sounds fair,” came Dean’s hesitant reply. 

Sam’s reticent demeanor spoke just as much about how disinclined they were to accept. Nonetheless, Castiel counted it a win and praised the Lord to His answer of prayer. “I appreciate you giving me a chance. I live right beside the church, so all you have to do is walk back towards the building and then take a right up the drive way. I can walk up there with you or you can stay here until the breakfast crew are finished cleaning up. It’s up to you.” His kind features easing their distrust a slight bit.

“We’ll stay here,” Sam spoke up. “Maybe we can help clean up to repay you for your kindness.” He chewed his lip and glanced at Dean for approval.

“That isn’t necessary, but if you’d like, the help is always appreciated.” He leaned in close to whisper, hand coming to hide his mouth in a playful conspiracy, “I’ve heard that those who help clean up get to glean from the leftovers.”

The older of the two brothers grinned ever so slightly, never one to turn away free food. He rose from his place and looked towards his brother. “Come on, Sammy. You heard the man! We clean, we glean!” He ruffled the filthy strands of his brother hair and laughed when Sam rolled his eyes with a chuckle in response. Castiel led them back to the kitchen, instructing them to wash their hands and what to do while he snagged a small piece of bacon for himself. ‘Maybe,’ Dean thought, ‘this really is better than where we were before.’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed with AU of Supernatural. Please, let me know your thoughts. Have a blessed night/morning.


End file.
